The calligrapher's daughter_ a novel - Eugenia Kim [104]
“Aigu! What coincidence!”
“He looked so excited to see me, an enormous smile, and I was so startled I don’t even remember if I said anything to acknowledge him. I just continued on my first-day tour but can’t recall anything else from that day except the light in his face.”
“Oh Jaeyun.”
“That was two years ago. He’s a doctor now. We take walks together, go to restaurants and parks, but have to be careful that no one from the hospital sees us.”
“They don’t allow it?”
“It’s not that.” She turned her head.
She was too sad to be in love, and an awful idea began to form. “What’s his name?”
“Ruichi Murayama.”
“His Korean name?”
“He isn’t—hasn’t one.”
“Oh, Jaeyun. How could you?”
“I didn’t mean to! I fought it, tried to avoid him. It happened. It was meant to happen.” Her eyes filled. “It’s impossible! What would my parents think? Look at how you’re reacting. He can’t help his birth. I can’t help mine.”
“Poor Romeo and Juliet. Please don’t let it get the better of you. It’s an impossibility.” Another reason to scoff at romantic love: it removed propriety and common sense. I recognized how stodgy this sounded and remembered the princess’s story about her brother, Crown Prince Uimin, and his lovely Japanese wife, Princess Bangja Masako of Nashimoto. “What will you do?”
“He wants to marry me. He says he’ll take me back to Japan and we can start fresh, as if I were Japanese. He thinks no one need ever know.”
“But your family!”
“I know.” Jaeyun covered her wet eyes. “Do you think I don’t know that? Why do you think I don’t come home? Every letter, every visit, it’s this fine doctor here, that smart doctor there, grandsons, grandsons! I can’t bear it.”
I gave my friend my handkerchief and looked to the sea. Two hours by ship lay Japan, geographic sister, racial enemy, the rigid master of an enslaved nation, exiled home of the crumbling remains of Korea’s royal family—and birthplace to one Dr. Murayama. I didn’t know what to say. Jaeyun blew her nose, and I tucked a tear-damp lock of hair around her ear. “He must be quite something,” I said. “But it doesn’t take ‘quite something’ to see your beauty and intelligence.” I tried to think of what my mother might say. Jaeyun was Buddhist, but her family did not actively practice. “If you were Christian, I’d tell you to trust God or have faith.”
“Thank you. I don’t know what will happen.”
“I’ll pray for you. I’m not much of a praying person, but for you I can easily pray.”
She smiled through her reddened eyes. “It’s a relief to be able to tell someone. One thing you can do is say nothing when he comes to see me tomorrow.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?”
“We’ll go around the point to the farthest strip of beach. He’ll meet me there, so we won’t be seen in the hotel together. Will you be all right on your own? It’s only a day. Do you mind very much? It means everything to me.”
“I’ll pack picnic lunches for you.”
“You are a dear friend. Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“There’s a small library at the hotel. I’ll find something to read. And there’s always Dongsaeng’s coat waiting for me!” I laughed, and when she hugged my arms, I squeezed back, fearful of her apparently deep involvement with Dr. Ruichi Murayama.
At the hotel when we asked for the room key, the clerk handed me a note. I thought I recognized the handwriting, although I hadn’t seen his writing in Japanese before.
“You’re blushing! Is it from that future minister-husband of yours?” Jaeyun tugged me upstairs to our room. “Come on! Quickly. Tell me what it says!”
“Seaside greetings, Miss Han,” I read, my throat dry.
“I told you so!”
Though I wanted to read it away from the embarrassingly teasing eyes of my friend, I held the folded paper open for both our eyes.
I send this note a day ahead, hoping you will spare a moment to receive me on Thursday. I expect to arrive midmorning and would be most pleased if you would provide me the honor of meeting in your hotel lobby an hour before noon. Perhaps we could break bread together?
Respectfully, Calvin Cho
“How